The curious 'life' of Bruno Wolfgang Monroe
by Darkrose1310
Summary: Experiment on. Tortured. Turned into a monster. After sleeping in ice for almost 70 years, Bruno awakes to a world he no longer knows. With his wife dead and daughter an old woman, he is forced to place his life into the hands of the B.P.R.D. As he recovers new questions come to light. What is he now? Is Kroenen really dead? Or will he return to finish what he started years ago?
1. Prologue

I've only seen the films so I'm not 100% sure about the biographies of the characters I haven't created. I think I've got the gist of it by looking at several websites to check whether my information is accurate, so I'm really sorry if I get anything majorly important wrong. If you spot anything, feel free to point it out and I'll edit it as soon as I can. Also other than Bruno and some other OC's the characters in this fanfiction belong to Dark Horse comics and the director Guillermo Del Toro. Here's hoping you all enjoy this fanfiction. The Curious 'life' of Bruno Wolfgang Monroe

**Prologue**

There had been a time, a time in his life when he had been a doctor, working at one of the best hospitals in Germany. Born 1907 as the third and youngest son of a German butcher and seamstress from Munich, Bruno had lead an ordinary life. When he was 21, he married the most beautiful woman in the world: Greta Schmidt and went on to have a daughter Madelyn with her. Settling into the role of a father had been easy for him, the role in itself suiting Bruno.

Of course, that was all over now.

Shattered into thousands of pieces and, like sand, those times had slipped through his fingers until nothing but his broken body and mind remained. Uncertain as to his future, he had given up hope, allowed his resolved to live to escape him. He was merely a shell now, a shell of the man who he had once been. A man who had once been a doctor, the son of a butcher and seamstress. A man who had once been a husband and a father. Who had once been a man.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

His limbs were frozen and he could barely move. His right arm ached severely – as it always did – an odd almost tingling sensation travelling up it from his wrist. It rarely bothered him now – he'd gotten quite used to it. Drawing a breath in, he opened his blind eyes. He knew that the once electric black pupil had become nothing more than a pale, milky grey like that of someone with cataracts. Somehow, he could tell that the room outside had very little furnishings: there was an abandoned desk cluttered with books, notes and various stationary, above it there were numerous peep holes for a variety of medical and scientific equipment to be stored it – both had a thick quilt of cobwebs laid delicately over them and the black bodies of spiders scuttled absentmindedly over the webs. There were a few other chairs around the room - they were upturned and woodlice were eating away at them with vigour – whilst pieces of equipment such as syringes and scalpels were scattered across the floor.

He strained his vision to detect anyone else in the room. When it did not he called upon his hearing.

No one.

His heart – one of the few parts of him that still functioned, albeit not as it once had, but it worked all the same – beat faster as panic set in. Whilst he'd hardly ever known what it was they were going to do to him, he had gotten somewhat used to them. They were like some horrible contagion; always there but not necessarily seen or heard.

Stiffly and with some difficulty, he turned his head and blinked. A half melted chunk of ice was situated on the right side of his head, droplets of water slowly running down it and landing somewhere near his feet. He wiggled his toes, the movement jerky, flicking up droplets of water. Some droplets landed on his legs and dribbled down, causing him to shiver uncomfortably.

Slowly and with some debate, realization dawned upon him and he whimpered. He was in a freezer and he couldn't get out. Hurriedly he searched his memories for an explanation, but he found none. He had no clue as to what had happened but he knew one thing: he needed to escape, he needed to find out what had happened to the others and most of all, he needed to find help.

But first he needed to get out of this freezer.

Bruno started to lift his left hand up, slowly working it up amongst still melting chunks of ice until his left hand was pressed up against the glass. He breathed in and out, steadying himself before he tried to move his right hand. He'd not had it long and was still getting used to it. He was sure that the temperature in the freezer as well as the ice was dampening the signals that it was receiving or at least making it more difficult for it to carry out his commands. The index finger began twitching – a bug that he wished he could sort out himself but being a doctor and not a mechanic he wouldn't know where to start – Bruno shuffled and wiggled his right hand so that it was parallel with his left.

Now that both of his hands were both firmly pressed against the door, Bruno drew himself back and shoved as hard as he could. He heard pieces of ice breaking off from the door and falling down to his feet or scratching the glass as it became lodged on the way to the floor. Bruno was shaking now, claustrophobic thoughts sinking in. What if he couldn't get out? What if he was stuck there forever? Or worse, what if Kroenen and his scientists came back and resumed their heinous experiments upon him?

With that Bruno frowned and drew himself up. This time he slammed his hands against the door, repeatedly raining blows down upon it, screaming and shouting with indignation until at last the door budged open. It wasn't much but it was more than enough for him. The doctor struggled against the door until it swung open and he toppled out, landing on his hands on knees.

Warily, he climbed to his feet and re-arranged the torn and bloodied hospital gown that he wore in some attempt to hide his mutilated body from the rest of the world. As he walked towards the door he found himself searching for any sighs that someone had been in this room recently; other than himself. It was as if he'd been left behind, thrown aside, a failed experiment that was no longer worth the trouble of maintaining.

Bruno wondered for a moment if the war was still being raged and if so, what state his fatherland was in. If it had ended which side had 'won'? Hopefully not Hitler and the S.S, surely the Allies had defeated them or would defeat them, God he hoped so. He knew that he'd never be able to live in a world ruled under the dictatorship that was Adolf Hitler. Bruno then thought of Greta and Madelyn, his wife and little girl who his undead heart still yearned for, yet he refused to believe that he would ever be able to return to. After what he had done to them, to their family, it simply just wasn't possible.

Bruno carefully eased the door open and cautiously gazed out into the corridor. Overhead lights flickered on and off and some were broken, the bulbs having burst years ago, plunging sections of the building into perpetual darkness. A veil of cobwebs covered the walls and corners and only a small pathway in the centre of the floor was clear of the spiders and other small insects and creatures.

"Hallo." He called, but heard no answer.

"Hallo. Anyone?" He repeated, his voice breaking midway.

Cautiously he stepped into the corridor. Careful as to not tread on the cobwebs – he wasn't afraid of spiders but that didn't mean he was particularly fond of them – Bruno began his journey through the facility. 'Facility', was that really an appropriate noun to describe a place overflowing with so much death and misfortune, so much pain and suffering, so much anguish. Bruno pondered this for a moment, making his way back to what had once been his 'room'. Now he _knew_ a better word for that hellhole. It was a cell, a cage, a prison. But if he were lucky, he would find Rolf there who might be able to shed some light on current events.

Rolf had been Bruno's cellmate for the better part of their stay at the facility. He'd been there longer than Bruno – the poor devil – and had set about teaching the younger man how to survive and generally looked out for Bruno. Although Bruno's constant (unsuccessful) escape attempts had failed to amuse him in the slightest. When they'd first met, Rolf's hair had been deep ebony and his eyes somewhere between hazel and a dark green, but over time due to malnourishment and other factors they had faded, became dull.

_January 1__st__ 1941_

_The guards forced the man into the cell with more force than was really necessary. The younger man spun round just as they shut the door and slid the bolts back, leaving the latch open to allow only a small amount of light to seep into the room. It was only because of this that Rolf could see the younger man had short cut blond hair and teal blue eyes. On his left arm a number from Auschwitz was tattooed on and on the wrist of said arm were the numbers '__**262**__'._

_262 scrambled to his feet and pounded his hands on the door, then frantically ran his gaze around the room trying to find any means of escape._

"_I wouldn't bother if I were you." Rolf said sharply._

_262 jumped and backed into the far corner of the room. _

_Present_

Bruno finally found his old cell and was surprise to see that the bolts were not in place and the door had been left carelessly open.

"Hallo, Rolf? Where are you?" Bruno glanced down the corridor and turned to walk down to the other cells.

All the doors were open, but there were no prisoners.

The infirmary, Bruno though suddenly and ran off to his new destination. Of course it was so simple. They must be there. The experiments performed upon them, upon all of them, meant that the vast majority of them were sick and too weak to even stand. Bruno himself had been there a few times when his escape attempts had gone astray.

000000

Special agent Kenzie of the B.P.R.D groaned allowed, rubbing his hands together thoroughly. He hated the cold. He'd grown up in Texas; the hot climate suiting him and had rarely had to endure freezing temperatures such as he did now. But that was what happened, he supposed, when you caught a werewolf killing your old man's cattle. God he hated this.

They'd been sent here after some kids on their gap year came across an abandoned military bunker from world war two. It just so happened that the bunker had apparently belonged to the Thule Occult Society, more specifically the head of the Thule Society: Karl Ruprecht Kroenen himself. Manning had sent Kenzie and a few others over to check it out alongside Johann Krauss. The psychic had been asked as opposed to ordered since him quitting about four to five years ago. Besides, despite no longer having any official authority in the B.P.R.D, Hellboy had demanded that Manning sent someone he could trust – unfortunately, Hellboy was currently preoccupied with a case of his own and hadn't been able to make it. And the psychic could speak German for obvious reasons, which was a bonus.

Kenzie glanced at the German quickly. Creepy. It didn't matter how long Kenzie had known the guy, he still creeped his out. The others had to admit that it was as little disconcerting to see those little… things move about whenever the man talked. It was like the metal bits moving across an old music box without the soft, childlike music drifting out in a steady stream. And then there was the matter of the bursts of gas that sometimes exited the helmet. Christ, the first time they went off when Kenzie met Krauss he just about had a heart attack – to be fair he hadn't known Krauss was behind him and he had _just_ started working there when the whole 'Golden Army incident' kicked off.

Of least he wasn't leading the expedition. That had been left to Agent Wilson.

Years of working for the bureau had hardened Wilson into a battle ready leader and he took all his assignments in his stride, whether he wanted them or not.

It was then that Wilson turned round and said, "Becket and Collins have just opened the door. Remember, we're just scouts so don't touch _anything_. That includes you Ripley." Ripley glared at Wilson but didn't comment, "We go in, search the place and report back. Keep your weapons handy, but don't shoot unless absolutely necessary. You see anything, report back to me immediately – don't keep anything to yourself. Ready?"

A chorus of replies, "Let's move in."

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The infirmary had been just like to cells: empty save for upturned beds with rotten, blood stained blankets on top of them. Bruno began to feel severely nauseous just standing in the room and so hurriedly took his leave.

An odd sensation had rooted itself in the back of his mind for both the cells and infirmary were empty, on his way he found that the offices were also, the weapons room was surprisingly full but there were no guards. The only places he hadn't checked were the mess hall and yard. Another thing that surprised him was that he could now hear voices and sounds like footsteps.

Shaking his head as if to dislodge something, Bruno made his way back to the freezer room. He had no intention of climbing back in the thing, but when he thought about it, it was highly possible that there were rooms in the facility that he had never been in. Come to think of it, he was shocked that he hadn't considered it before. If he had been frozen, then the chances were that Rolf and the others had been too. Maybe the allies had gotten too close to the base and Kroenen had placed it on lock down with the intention of returning? Bruno hoped that if so, the Nazi wouldn't until he was long gone.

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Wilson had split them all up into groups to explore the base. Becket and Collins had gone south to inspect what appeared to be the mess hall, guards barracks and weapons room, whilst Johann and Rogers had set up shop rifling through the vast amounts of paper work and files that had been accumulated in the base before it had fallen into disuse. Wilson himself had taken Jenner down to the generator to get everything back on line, which left Kenzie, Ripley and noob Doug investigating the cells, infirmary and an untouched part of the base.

Kenzie didn't particularly want to know what had gone off here. It wasn't just that this place had belonged to Kroenen – the entire team had pretty much assumed that it would be weird as hell and down right horrifying – but also what they'd found whilst checking the cells. Blood had been smeared around the walls and splattered on the floor, deep groves existing in both from where people had clawed against them with their nails in desperation. Pills of human excretion that the weather had preserved and beds that looked like more people had died in than slept. Kenzie had seen worse. He'd seen people torn apart, turned inside out, heck he'd once seen a guy eat himself alive. But there was just something about this place that screamed _wrong_ and _get out whilst you still can_.

It felt like Kroenen was still here.

But that was ridiculous. Hellboy had killed him back in 2004. The only danger here was frostbite and the spiders.

There was a loud clatter from somewhere behind him.

Kenzie hurriedly rushed off to find the source of the commotion and unfortunately he wasn't surprised to find that Ripley had tripped over some invisible object and was now sprawled over Doug.

"Really Ripley? Really?"

Presently, Doug was making a frantic effort to squirm his way out from under Ripley who was trying to stand but failing because he kept on getting himself entangled with Doug's flaring arms and legs.

Kenzie barley suppressed a grown. Ripley was a skilled gun man, sometimes joked that he could shoot a fly's nuts off whilst Doug was new, still finding his feet in the bureau; a bit clumsy but was a good kid. However _this _was just embarrassing.

Looking for a distraction, Kenzie turned on his communicator, "How's everyone doing?"

"Okay at the moment. Almost got the generator working. Lights should be on in a about a minute or so." Jenner informed whilst his hands tinkered carefully with the old machine.

"Could be better. All we've found is a load of propaganda mags and a hole bunch of nothing else." Becket's voice was brimming with boredom.

A third voice broke in, "Krauss and I are still working our way through some old paper work. We'll call if we find anything useful but I don't think that'll be anytime soon so don't hold me to it."

There was an odd crackling sound as the other lines shut off temporarily. Flicking his communicator off, Kenzie made his way to the infirmary.

The walls were white and even after so many years the faint aroma of disinfectant was still present. Broken bulbs hung dejectedly from the ceiling, moths fluttered around split open cocoons and some unopened vessels were being mercilessly laid siege to by the same spiders that had been present throughout the base. Old gauze bandages and sewing needles were scattered about the place. Vaguely, ever so vaguely, Kenzie could imagine Kroenen stood over a nameless, faceless victim, bandaging and sewing the poor soul up, taking his time and drinking in the fresh pain he was inflicting.

Ripley strode in calmly and stood next to Kenzie, shone his torch over the scene and snorted in disgust, "Infirmary. More like a morgue."

Kenzie nodded, "Doesn't look likes anyone's been here since the war. Look at this dust," He ran a finger through for emphasis and showed Ripley the grey strip across his finger, "an' those webs."

A nervous cough, "What's down there?"

Kenzie and Ripley glanced over the shoulders at Doug who was pointing down a long corridor.

"Properly nothing important. A few labs, couple more cells, stuff like that. Why?"

Doug frowned, thought carefully about what he was going to say, "Someone's down there. Look." He shone his torch onto the ground and sure enough there laid several fresh footprints.

Ripley flicked on his communicator and said, sounding rather urgent, "Boss, someone's here."

Wilson's answered him immediately, "Where?"

"Near the infirmary, going east I think. They're barefoot."

A pause, "Follow them but keep at a safe distance. Do not confront them unless absolutely necessary. You hear me? Do not shoot."

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Bruno stopped. Frozen to the spot. Now that time he was sure that he'd heard voices. He spun round.

"Hallo?"

Silence.

"Hallo?"

Turning back round he hurried off at a brisk pace, not stopping for a single second as he passed the freezer room. He continued on to the end of the corridor, turned left and ran.

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Kenzie watched the thing turn and repeat 'Hallo?' twice. He watched it break into a run. Without thinking, he'd sprang to his feet from the crouch he had taken up whilst hidden round the corner and ran after it. He vaguely heard Doug shouting after him.

"Stop." Kenzie demanded as he thundered after the creature.

It glanced over its shoulder.

No lips. It – the thing – had no lips. It was missing the right half of its lower left eyelid whilst it lacked both right lids completely. It's dead eyes looked briefly at him. The creature turned its head back. It speed up and Kenzie growled.

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If he'd had breath, Bruno knew he'd be no doubt out of it. If he'd had lungs that worked, they'd no doubt be burning.

"Stop!" His pursuer roared.

"Nein." Bruno cried back and shot off to his right, skidding slightly as he twisted his body and ducked under a bullet that took out a chunk of the wall beside him.

Picking up the pace by as much as he could, Bruno was rewarded with a satisfying burn in his muscles as they worked more than they had in decades. With this fire in his limbs he _knew_ that he could run till the end of days.

But could he out run a bullet?

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Kenzie glowered inwardly as Ripley took aim behind him and shot at the thing. The resulting impact of the bullet against the wall left a small crater and sent spiders and slugs alike scurrying away in a panic.

"Damn it Ripley. Wilson said not to shoot!"

"He was getting away!" Ripley hollered back, followed closely by Doug.

"Like hell he was!" Kenzie shouted as he took the sharp right and raced after the thing.

Christ it was fast. It didn't seem to tire out. Lucky for it. Unlucky for Kenzie.

Kenzie ducked as Ripley fired another bullet and the thing slipped onto the floor. He saw it glance over it's shoulder as it scrambled to it's feet.

"Scheisse!"

By the time it was back on its feet Kenzie was two feet away from it. It noticed and bolted as fast as it could. But it wasn't fast enough. In a single leap Kenzie had a hold on its back and they both fell to the floor.

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The second bullet had missed him by only a few inches. Too close for his tastes. Close enough that his foot slipped on the cobwebbed floor. Bruno began pushing himself up as quickly as he could. Glanced over his shoulder to the man chasing him.

Men, the men chasing after him.

"Shit."

Bruno got to his feet, pushed off but knew he'd taken too long. The man was right behind him. All he would need to do was stretch his arm out a little more and he'd have Bruno. Simple as. Taking advantage of the situation, the man leaped and got a hold on Bruno, who then lost balance and fell hard onto his left shoulder.

He squirmed, trying to get away from the man and loosen his grip at the same time. Bruno received a punch in the gut that would have winded a normal man but instead just shot pain through Bruno's body. They both scrambled up and Bruno threw a punch as hard and fast as he could without any combat training. It caught the man under the jaw, who then twisted and managed to get Bruno in a chock hold. Bruno rammed his foot into the man's leg, repeated it again and again and then began ramming his elbows into the man as he held him from behind.

A second man was trying to take aim – no doubt to shot Bruno – but Bruno twisted and turned, making it as difficult as possible for him.

Somehow Bruno got the first man off him and threw him into the path of the other two before bolting down the hallway.

_Hide_, Bruno told himself, _Find somewhere to hide._

He didn't have long to pick a hiding place. He knew because he could hear them thundering down the hall after him so he tore open the first door he could. It had originally been locked but the rot over the years and rust had eaten away at the lock and door so swung open easily.

Bruno stopped.

Inside the room, the dreaded room, there were hundreds upon hundreds of strange tube like pods, filled with ice. Bruno could pick out the vague silhouettes of the creatures inside: human corpses fused with machinery, mangled faces staring blankly at him. Parts of their organic bodies were missing; leaving neatly sown flesh that was a patchwork of horrors. On the one closest to him he saw the numbers 165.

Rolf had told him that there were others. That Kroenen was manufacturing 666 soldiers; that they were just test subjects, preparation for the finished products. Whenever one died, he was simply replaced with another. The body would then be stored away and examined so further improvements could be made on those that still lived.

Bruno had known he wasn't the first 262, but a replacement for the last. A man named Hans who had been Rolf's old roommate before Bruno joined him.

Before him, in their frozen prisons, were half of the completed test subjects.

And Rolf was among them…

… somewhere.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Bruno ran frantically through the rows and rows of pods. 165, No. 166, No. . 168. 169. 200. No. NO. NO! Rolf _had_ to be in here somewhere. Whilst Bruno wasn't sure why he had been secured in the freezer room, away from the others – perhaps Kroenen had desired to perform a certain operation on Bruno but hadn't the time to move him to this room when the base was being locked down or had mapped out a particularly special use for Bruno. He didn't know which possibility he preferred.

Bruno knew that he was dead. There wasn't really much use in denying it so how or why he could still feel was beyond him. He could tell when a room was hot or cold, when he stepped on something sharp and the automatic reaction to flinch away was still there; only without the healing process, which just meant that he was a grotesque cross between a patchwork sheet and a man. Sure the magic that kept him functioning – at least he though it was magic, nothing he knew from all his years practicing medicine could offer him an explanation – had the added effect of maintaining him but it didn't heal him.

A snippet from his years studying medicine was called to mind; the nervous system operated on electricity. Perhaps whatever Kroenen had done to him still allowed for the electrical signals to function? That would make sense in a mentally disturbed kind of way; Kroenen appeared to enjoy causing others pain – it was as though he drank it in, let their pain fill him and somehow it made him stronger. If Bruno couldn't feel pain anymore then he wouldn't have been half as much fun to experiment on.

Hearing heavy footfalls close behind him, Bruno ducked behind a pod lapped 251: Adrian Himmler a gay journalist who'd opposed the Nazis if Bruno remembered correctly. Yes, yes, Bruno remembered him now: short fellow with an annoying spot on the end of his nose, which was long and curved. Odd chap, talked to people who weren't there on occasion but his cellmate 250 hadn't seemed to mind, as Adrian was lovely bloke in general. Besides, Kroenen used Adrian in particular for his more… physiological adventures so it was no surprise that Adrian wasn't all there anymore.

"Jesus Christ." Someone breathed.

Now he was sure that the one called Ripley said, "Shit on my face."

Even under these circumstances Bruno frowned. He couldn't understand what they were saying but judging from the drawn out pause Ripley had said something either odd or obscene. Or both.

"What?"

"Hey, don't look at me like that. It's just an expression." At this point Ripley held his hands out in front of him, hands open and palms facing skyward.

"I know that Ripley." Kenzie shook his head and fixed his gaze onto the floor. So did Ripley, neither of them wanted to look at the creatures in the pods, "Hey Doug, you radioed Wilson yet?"

"Yeah." Bruno risked a quick peek at a young man. Bruno scowled; the lad looked about ten in his opinion. Far too young to be in places such as this. The boy ran his gaze over everything. "God. I knew that Kroenen was into some weird stuff, but… but… this is _insane_."

Bruno quickly moved back behind the pod. The boy had almost seen him. When Bruno had been a boy, growing up in Munich, he'd often played hide and seek with his friends, especially Zacharia.

_July 17__th,__ 1912_

"_C'mon Bruno, he'll find you if you don't hurry up." Zach shouted over his shoulder, laughing as he ran quickly and swiftly through the park._

"_I am hurrying." A little five year old, blond haired and blue-eyed Bruno shouted back as he ran on after Zach, searching for a place to hide._

_Zach came to a stop behind a tree and grabbed the back of Bruno's collar when he ran past and pulled him next to him. The two boys smiled._

"_Alright, I'll hide behind this tree and you hide behind that one," Zach pointed, still panting_

"_But what if Rudolf sees me?" Bruno's teal eyes widened as he whispered._

_Zach laughed and whispered back, "He won't if you hurry."_

_The younger boy frowned and said, "Why don't you go?"_

"_Cause you're smaller than I am so he won't see you as good." _

"_But you're faster than I am."_

"_I'm older than you."_

"_So? Klaus is older than me and Stephan always tells me not to listen to him."_

"_That's different."_

"_How?"_

"_Well, well, they're your brothers."_

"_But you're my friend and my daddy always says that friends are the family you choose. So you're my brother too." Bruno nodded and smiled, "So does that mean I can stay here?"_

_Eventually Bruno _did_ run off to hide behind the other tree. He crouched down, giggling as all five year olds do whilst Zach hide behind the first tree, rolling his eyes at his younger friend although he was also trying to hold back laughter._

_And failing miserably._

_Present_

Of course, Bruno was always caught in the end. Usually because he'd jump out of his hiding place and shout as loud as his little voice could, "_Heir bin Ich! Heir bin Ich!" _But that had just been fun and games. Whatever happened during the game, no matter how good or badly he played, everything turned out all right in the end. When they'd finished playing they'd go back to either Zach or Albrecht's house, whose parents would cook them a quick meal and afterwards would walk all the boys home. Bruno would return to his parents with a broad grin on his little face that, unfortunately, wasn't shared with his mother and father.

His father was like any other Bavarian German: proud of his country, distasteful towards the Jews and the Weimar for their supposed 'back stabbing' against the rest of the country after the end of the first world war. He was still a caring, loving father who tried to understand Bruno's need to be friends with Zacharia as well as other Jewish boys his age. He never did manage it but at least he'd tried. His mother on the other hand though, was a different story.

Both of Ingrid Monroe's parents were firm nationalists and proud Germans no less; her mother also possessed a strong arm and patience that Bruno wasn't willing to test.

Bruno would never forget the time he had made the mistake of asking his maternal grandmother why she didn't like Jews, because Jesus was a Jew. And above all else, he would never forget the subsequent thrashing she gave him. It had left him feeling red and raw and sitting down had been a tad painful for a few days.

Whilst he understood why his grandmother had done it, because in her heart of hearts she did just want what was best for him and in her opinion part of that was not allowing her youngest grandson to be "_tainted by filthy Jews"_ as she put it, but he'd not been able to find it within himself to completely condone it. In short Bruno had persisted in his friendship with Zach. Some could argue that Bruno was just being a rebellious little shit by continuing to go against his grandmother's (and entire families') wishes. But Zach was his best friend and always stood up for him, a favour that Bruno was always willing and ready to return. It was, in essence, what had led him down this path and to his death… and unlife.

Perhaps if he had done as he was told then he would have been allowed to live out the rest of his life with his wife and child; but he hadn't and here he was. There never was much of a choice for him. His friendship with Zach, in a way, had sealed his fate. For who could be friends with someone for years, become their brother in everything except blood, and then abandon them when the going got tough, when the rest of society began beating them in the streets. When Zach was taken to a death camp alongside his wife and children that had been the last straw for Bruno. Everything, like clockwork, had slid soundlessly into place.

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Kenzie held his gun in a tight grip, sweeping it slowly across the room. He moved slowly and deliberately, taking his time. Ripley had run ahead, taking the north-eastern quadrant of the room, whilst Kenzie handled the southeast and Doug the southwest. Speaking of the noob, Doug had radioed Wilson five minutes ago, who had then ordered Becket and Collins to get down from guards barracks. Kenzie knew that they should have already arrived, so that either meant that they'd run into trouble (possible) or Becket had made a quick stop at the weapons room in order to 'borrow' a gun or two for some assistance (almost definite). True to form Collins arrived with Becket trailing behind her, with a World War Two style gun in her belt, a few minutes later.

Why she bothered with it was beyond Kenzie. She loved hitting people too much for a gun to even be necessary. But then, her grandfather loved old guns. Her father, knives. Her brother, strangely, vacuum cleaners. It wasn't that he used them for combat, he was just really anal. Anyway the gun, it was, if Kenzie was right, a present for her Grandfather.

"What's the situation?" Becket asked – straight to the point as always.

Kenzie nodded to Doug who then hurried over to them.

"We found a creature and chased it into here – we're trying to find it. Ripley's taken the top left corner and me and Kenzie have been handling things down here." Doug paused, "I think someone should cover the top right and then the other stays here to guard the door."

"What's it look like?" Collins asked, already moving to the top of the room.

"No lips. Missing both lids on its right eye and a section of the lower lid over its left. Bald, scars and stitches all over its body." Doug had returned to searching the southeast and added, "Oh and possibly male."

"Possibly?" Becket questioned.

"Most likely."

Kenzie stopped at one pod and looked closer at its occupant: 164. Now frowning he walked back to the last. 163. Hmm. He went back a few more paces. 161. Kroenen was well known for experimenting on his victims, learning as much as he could from their bodies long before death had occurred. Christ, the guy had been known to use spells in order to keep them alive longer just for his own perverted entertainment.

Kenzie barley even register the low thrum that rang throughout the facility as Jenner completed his work on the generator. Bulbs that had formally flickered on and off flickered once more then remained on. Lights hidden somewhere within the interior of the pods lit up and now he could see that 161's forearm was a mechanical. Kenzie could even see where metal carapace intersected with frozen flesh. Kenzie frowned. Did the man just _move_? No, he couldn't have; Kenzie thought. He was frozen solid.

Realisation dawned and Kenzie felt like an absolute eejit.

The creature was a man who Kroenen had experimented on. _He must be_. For some reason, he'd woken up before the others and had gone to look for help. Then he got spooked, started running and Kenzie had been daft enough to chase after him. _And Ripley had shoot at him!_ Poor guy must have been terrified.

"Bugger me." Kenzie muttered.

At that moment, Kenzie had planned to turn back and tell the others about his recent realisation. He planned to radio Johann and ask if he could come down, try to talk to the guy. Kenzie couldn't speak any language other than English but he had enough general knowledge to known that 'Nein' was German. Besides, other than Johann the only person who could speak the language was Rodgers (a massive oversight on their behalf but they hadn't expected to encounter anyone else) and Rodgers tended to say the wrong thing at the wrong time to people he'd just met and that was something they did not need when in the presence of one of Kroenen's victims. NO, Johann was their best bet in calming the man down. He may have been strange looking but Kenzie supposed that he was nice enough. Plus he reckoned that the man would be grateful enough that he was leaving the facility that he wouldn't care how weird they looked. It wasn't like the guy was Germany's next top model or anything.

That was Kenzie's plan. His intention on what to do next.

Unfortunately, the best laid schemes of mice and men go often awry.

Gun shots. A sudden cry. A sickly cracking sound that echoed throughout the room. A second cry that followed it. Collins.

Kenzie saw the lipless being bolt for the door.

When it saw Becket it twisted its body in attempted to change direction and bolt off in the opposite direction. However, it skidded on as it turned and found itself less than a foot away from Becket who lunged.

"Wait! Becket! Don't!" Kenzie roared but it was already too late.

She struck it with her right fist, following it with a sharp jab to the throat with her left. It went stumbling backwards and tried to cover its head for protection but she changed position and went low. A vicious kick aimed at its knee was followed by her sweeping the creature's legs from underneath it in one fluid movement. A left hook. A right cross. Becket pummelled the creature until it cried out. Collapsed in a heap on the floor. Stopped moving.

000000

Keeping down low, Bruno had gone on all fours and began crawling through the rows and rows of pods in order to escape detection. Whenever he came to a new pod, he quickly checked the number and moved onto the next. He was getting close now – close to Rolf – and he knew it. He just passed 257. Speeding up and letting go of a length of caution, Bruno hurried on to 261.

_January 1__st__ 1941_

"_I wouldn't bother if I were you." Rolf said sharply._

_262 jumped and backed into the far corner of the room. His back hit the wall. His teal eyes attempted to penetrate the darkness as to find the unseen speaker. However Rolf was in the far corner, furthest from the door and concealed in a blanket of darkness so thick he may as well have not been there at all._

_Rolf shook his head. So they'd already found a replacement for Hans. It didn't surprise him. As soon as he died they'd no doubt replace him with the same cruel efficiency. What did surprise him, however, was that the new 262 appeared to be Arian. Blonde hair, intelligent blue eyes; he was practically the poster boy for the Nazi ideal._

_At least physically._

_Maybe something he had done or was had earned him his place in the facility. Not everyone in the facility was some innocent man who was thrown in simply for the religion they had grown up in, a sexuality that they had no choice over or simply opposing the Nazis in general. No. Some of the people in the facility were murders and rapists of the worst calibre. Some were child-killing monsters. Of course there was the odd thief who had stolen for nothing more than a loaf of bread to serve as their next meal, but there were also those who had killed for the spare change in an old woman's pocket, for the _thrill_ of the chase, the hunt, the kill._

_But the number from Auschwitz brought all that under scrutiny. If he was a criminal, then he would not bear that mark, for he would have been sent to the facility immediately from the cells if there was something in him that Kroenen or one of his scientists liked the look of. Perhaps he was Jewish? That would explain the first tattoo easily. Or maybe he was homosexual and had been recently discovered? Maybe he was a gypsy or any of the other undesirables that the Nazis demeaned filth? There were so many possibilities. But the latter options appeared to be more likely._

_Rolf shrugged to himself. 262 had just missed what was classed as 'dinner' for the inmates and neither of them would be leaving until morning when the doctors would want to examine them in order to map out new experiments so they had plenty of time on their hands to get to know one another. 'No time like the present' they say._

_Rolf stepped into the light; "No one ever gets out of here alive. That's the first thing you need to know."_

_Present_

Rolf Stresemann, former Anti-Nazi activist, had his eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest like the pharaohs of old. Like Bruno, sewn up cuts contorted over his skin and intersected as though they were train tracks that – like their owner – had been abandoned. On Rolf's left wrist, which had been twisted as to make them easier to read, where the numbers 261. Even after all the decades that they had spent frozen the ink still had yet to fade.

Standing up, Bruno began to run his hands across the surface of the pod. He walked slowly around it, examining every square inch for a hidden switch or something that he could use to open it up from the outside or at least wake Rolf up. Bruno had been able to fight his way out of his freezer but he'd been awake first, so (hopefully) if he managed to awake Rolf, then he could help him escape.

He started to knock against its metallic surface as quietly as he possibly could. He tapped one spot, frowned, then repeated the rapping action but with his ear next to his hand as he did so. Shaking his head, he moved back a step and scratched his chin. For a moment he touched lipless gum. His hand flinched away from the dry skin. For a moment he thought about what a monster he must have look like and felt a flash of jealously towards Rolf and the others who at least still had enough of a face left to look normal. Guilt snapped at jealousy's heels.

Sighing he wondered if he'd missed anything. Perhaps there was a switch somewhere that operated all the pods or allowed separate control boards to come out of the pods or up from the floor. Bruno wasn't a mechanic or an engineer; the one thing that he could remember doing, that required skill in those fields was when the radio stopped working properly (or Hitler was on) and he had to try and tune in again. On one occasion, whilst he had been tuning into a different station after a particularly awful opera came on, the knob had fallen off and rolled somewhere behind the sofa. Greta had walked in, after a long day at work, only to be greeted by the sight of her thirty-year-old husband and four year old daughter either leaning over the edge of the sofa or peering beneath it with their arms outstretched trying to find the damnable thing whilst the opera came to its dreadful climax. It sounded, to Bruno, like people passing Kidney Stones and he was a doctor so he _knew_ what he was talking about. Bruno had turned round to say something to Madelyn, noticed Greta in his peripheral vision and had looked up at her sheepishly from his position on the floor. Madelyn had then jumped up in excitement after having found the knob and showed it happily to her mother as proof. Greta, of course, had asked how it had rolled underneath the sofa to begin with. She hadn't been too happy with Bruno afterwards. She'd only just got the station where she liked it.

"Don't move."

Bruno turned round and froze when he found himself looking down the barrel of a gun.

"I said: don't move."

Bruno did as he was told. Not because he understood the command but out of fear. He knew, that if he was shot right here and now, he would feel every second of it. He'd feel it tear open his skin, sear its way through his vessels and nerve endings and perhaps break or crack a few bones. And if he wasn't paralysed by the pain and managed to get away and find something that could dull those unpleasant sensations in a normal human it wouldn't work on him – he had no blood to transport said drug throughout his body. He'd learned that lesson the hard way, during the first operation after his death. He'd stared up at Kroenen's gas mask, fighting instinctively against his restraints and cried out through a lipless mouth as he was cut open. Kroenen had carefully placed the folds of skin across Bruno's chest so that they could be stitched back together again after his tests were complete, like shutters on a window.

The woman in front of him had skin the same colour as ground coffee with eyes of the darkest ebony he'd ever seen. Under normal circumstances, they would have radiated unrivalled warmth akin to that of a born mother, but now they were hard and sharp. A steely quality that suggested they could break boulders if so they wished. The palm of the hand that held the gun was a pinkish-red.

"Turn around." Bruno frowned, chocked his head in that bird like manner Greta had always loved. "Turn around." She repeated and when Bruno just continued to remain still she sighed and roughly placed one of her hands on his left shoulder and shoved him.

Bruno turned round, gritted his teeth. This woman held a gun; he held no such weapon other than himself. He could run, but she'd fire before he'd even made three steps. If he darted quickly through the rows of pods, weaving and never running in a straight line then he might have a chance. Or he could…

There was a sudden groan. It was drawn out in a similar fashion to one who is waking but not yet quite awake, their brain slowly and unwillingly becoming more and more present in current affairs. It was also hitched slightly, indicating pain of some sort that couldn't be with held.

"The hell…" she said, turning away from Bruno.

Rolf's dark green and hazel eyes opened slowly. At first they were glassy, unable to focus but they quickly sharpened. They swivelled to Bruno.

"Run."

Bruno ran.

He twisted and darted through the pods, making his way to the exit. If he was lucky (good luck mind you) then they hadn't placed a guard near the exit, if they did then he hoped his could slip by them. Unnoticed or not, he'd run on and on until this place was so far behind him that not even God could find him and along the way he'd tell someone, anyone what had happened here and they'd send help. Then, when everything was safe he'd go, go to his friends and together, as they'd all once planned, they would find somewhere within the world where people such as them could live (or in his case un-live) until the day that their existence ended and all evidence of Kroenen and his experiments was wiped clean from history, from existence.

Bruno screamed as the bullet tore open his side. He fell to his knees. He could feel it within him: the bullet. The way that his muscles contorted around the slug of Lead and the magic that maintain him, kept his body in this frozen state, struggled to get rid of it. His nervous system and brain was working fine though.

Whatever way he was managing to see told him that the black woman was behind him. She took aim again and he rolled to his left. Heard the bullet whistle past. She moved quickly and spun to try and fire again. Bruno jumped at her. They grappled for the gun.

She was trained in combat, knew how and where to apply pressure and what techniques to use in order to do so, but Bruno? Bruno was a doctor with in depth knowledge of the human body. Long before and after his days at university were over he'd studied book after book after book, he'd researched long forgotten methods and ones that were starting to formulate until they were all locked safely away in his brain. His brain…

… that not even the Thule Occult Society's best and brightest sensitive could read or penetrate.

She hit him in the jaw and he stumbled. A right hook, a jab, another hook. He ducked on instinct. Pushed her.

At some point her gun dropped to the floor and skidded out of her grip.

When she had her arm wrapped round his throat he grabbed the nerve cluster on her leg in desperation. They gave out beneath her. He searched quickly for the weapon. Found it. Snatching the gun up he whacked her round the back of head as hard as he could

_Crack! _

She cried out.

Bruno bolted for the door but there was a woman there. His legs stopped moving but his body kept going.

"Wait! Becket! Don't!"

000000

Becket snarled at this thing in front of her. That had been Collins' scream. Collins was her best friend and nobody hurt her friends.

Her right fist struck it with a stratifying jolt…

_Collins wasn't much of a fighter…_

… then she succeeded it with a jab to its throat with her left. It gagged. Stumbled…

…_No, _Becket thought_, Collins was a mother hen through and through…_

… It covered its heads with its arms. An attempt at protecting itself…

… _Whenever they were on a mission, Collins talked to witnesses. Got information from them, soothed them and afterwards convinced the poor things that they hadn't seen what they saw. Told them what they needed and desperately wanted to hear…_

Beckett went low. Kicked its knee with ferocity so primal only few people and animals could access it. Just like her teachers had taught her, she swept its legs out from underneath it. It fell and she descended. Left hook. Right cross. Elbow. Fist. Palm. Left. Right.

It cried out and stopped moving.

It whimpered.

Becket stamped on its face.

**Originally this chapter was going to be even longer, but this felt like the natural place to end it. I must also confess I have no idea when the next chapter will be finished, hopefully not too long but we'll all just have to see.**

**Anyway, thank you to everyone who's read this and especially to everyone who's reviewed**


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